Starlight (24 page)

Oh, so he should! But Ben and Marguerite came back first, both giving the slight impression that they weren't as ecstatic as they might have been about being once again in their old jobs.

Ben, fully recovered from his injuries, had ended the war as a Flight Lieutenant, and was obviously finding it a bit of a shock to be back in his projection box, especially with Ron Clerk, who got on his nerves and was no substitute for the absent Rusty. While for Marguerite, after the exciting days in the WAAF, being a waitress again had clearly lost its appeal. There was often a frown on her smooth brow, and a petulant droop to her lovely mouth, but she never spoke of what she was feeling, and Jess thought it better not to comment.

‘Maybe the time's come for Marguerite to have a baby?' Addie hopefully suggested to Jess. ‘Now that Ben's poor dad has passed away, they've got the house to themselves and all the space they want, eh? Some folk'd give their eye teeth to have a bairn in a nice place of their own like that.'

‘I don't see Marguerite with a baby, somehow,' Jess remarked.

‘Well, can I see you?' her mother asked.

‘Maybe one day. Got other things to think of now.'

Other things to think of. Or a person. But as the weeks went by, Jess had almost given up hope. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe to do with the Russians, or something. Had Rusty's camp been moved to Siberia? Oh, what a piece of nonsense! Don't get carried away, Jess told herself. It's just red tape, it's just the paperwork. He'll come walking in, like Ma said. And then it'll be as though he'd never been away.

On a warm summer's day, she was in the foyer, putting up a publicity notice for
The Picture of Dorian Gray
, a coming attraction. She stood back and looked at the photographs of the star, a handsome, black-haired actor named Hurd Hatfield, who had, she thought, rather a look of Ben. Then she permitted herself to smile. It was a long time since she'd kept seeing likenesses to Ben in film stars. Heavens, what a child she'd been in those days! Ben looked like himself, that was all there was to it.

Suddenly, behind her, she heard a voice speak her name.

‘Jess?' And then again, as at first she was too stunned to reply – ‘Jess?'

Slowly, she turned her head. Was it possible? After all these years? Of not knowing, not seeing, of sending off letters and parcels and only occasionally receiving a few lines back – ‘soup was thin, bread was black, good to have the socks'. Was it possible, the long wait was over and that this was . . .

‘Oh, Rusty!' she cried, bursting into tears, and putting out her arms to him. ‘You're home!'

Forty-Four

He'd always been thin, but now he was just walking bones. As she took him in her arms, Jess could feel his shoulder blades like knives through his shirt, and the face looking into hers was so gaunt, so fleshless, it seemed a stranger's. Yet the eyes, so painfully large, were Rusty's eyes – she would have known them anywhere.

Still, she cried out at how thin he was. What had happened to him? Why hadn't he let her know he was coming?

‘Meant to, Jess, but it's all been . . . so difficult. It's all taken . . . so much time.'

‘And you've nothing with you, Rusty, no' even a jacket. Where's all your stuff?'

‘At home. I went there first. Had no key, but Mrs Fox let me in.'

Mrs Fox. Their upstairs neighbour, who held a spare key. What a shock she must have had, seeing this strange, emaciated man on her doorstep!

‘Thank God she was in – oh, poor Rusty!'

She stepped back, her eyes bright on his face, gazing so long he gave a faint smile.

‘Did I not ask you once, Jess, if you'd know me again?'

‘I know you, Rusty. I just can't believe you're here. Are you real?'

‘I'm not sure. Things haven't seemed real to me for a long time.'

‘I am, though?' She caught at his hands. ‘Look at me, Rusty! I'm here, I'm real.'

They held each other again, kissing lightly, not passionately – oh, nothing about this homecoming, it seemed to Jess, was as she'd imagined it. Releasing herself from Rusty's thin arms, she looked anxiously round the foyer, which was still empty. There was still no one around to see them. But it would be opening time soon and everyone would be arriving.

Sally, whose turn it was for the box office, and Renie and Edna for the auditorium; Trevor for the cinema organ; Fred to open up; customers to see the film. Just at that moment, she didn't want to see any of them, only wanted to be alone with Rusty, to try, somehow, to make sense of this reunion she'd wanted for so long.

‘Look, we'll be opening soon,' she told him. ‘Folk will be arriving – we don't want to see them yet, do we?'

‘I just want to go back home, Jess. If that's all right?'

‘Of course it's all right! I'll phone for a taxi.'

‘Haven't been too well, you see. Had a flare-up of an old problem in the transit camp here – not quite over it.' Rusty ran his hand over his brutally cropped hair. ‘I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. None of this is how I'd planned it.'

So he was feeling the same? Jess had guessed it. And it was clear he'd been ill. More than ever, she longed to get him out of the cinema and home, and pulling forward a chair, asked him to wait while she told Edie she'd be out for the rest of the day and booked the taxi.

‘I don't need a taxi, Jess. I came on the tram – I can go home on the tram.'

‘No, no, we don't want to be taking the tram. But I'll just speak to Edie and then we can go to the rank, if you like. Will you just wait here?'

‘Sure. I'm not going anywhere, except with you.'

When she had phoned Edie on the intercom from the box office and cut short her squeals of joy, Jess returned to Rusty.

‘Quick, let's go – we've just got time, before everyone starts arriving.'

‘You seem very worried about getting away, Jess.'

‘I only want to be with you, that's why. At least for today. Tomorrow, they can all see you, if you feel like coming in.'

‘I'll be OK after a good night's sleep.'

‘In your own bed,' she said softly.

‘Now, that won't seem real.'

They exchanged tentative smiles, then left the cinema, hurrying, as though on the run, as though they'd something to hide, scarcely seeing the people beginning to gather for the matinee, only feeling safe in the taxi they found waiting at the rank.

‘You'll feel better at home,' Jess whispered. ‘Everyone does.'

‘Oh, I know.'

‘Just hope I can find you something to eat.'

‘Don't feel hungry.'

‘I have some tinned soup. Isn't that disgraceful? Offering you tinned soup for your first meal home?' Jess tried to smile. ‘What would Ma say?'

‘I'm looking forward to seeing your ma again.'

‘Oh, she'll be so glad to hear you're back! I might try to slip out to the phone box and ring her at work.'

‘Do that,' Rusty murmured, and lying back, closed his eyes. ‘Tell me when we're home.'

‘I'll tell you,' Jess said and, leaning against his shoulder, took his hand.

Forty-Five

The soup was pea and ham, which, as Rusty said, was an improvement on the cabbage broth of the prison camp. But he didn't want the omelette Jess said she could make him, courtesy of Derry, who had let her have a few fresh eggs from one of his sources.

‘Are you sure?' she pressed. ‘You've lost so much weight, Rusty, you really need to eat to get your strength back.'

He shook his head. ‘I have to go carefully, don't want to risk more problems. Wouldn't mind a glass of milk, though, if you could manage it.'

‘Oh, yes, yes!' Relieved she could give him something he wanted, Jess raced off to the kitchen, returning with the milk which he slowly began to sip. For a while she watched, then came to kneel beside his chair.

‘Tell me what's wrong,' she said quietly. ‘Tell me what's causing the trouble.'

‘Just a stomach thing. Relic of camp food, I guess. The doctor who checked us out said it'd gradually go.'

‘You were pretty ill, weren't you? In the transit camp? That's why you didn't get in touch?'

‘I'm better now.' He ran his fingers down her cheek. ‘Now I'm home, with you.'

‘You must have had a terrible time, all those years,' she said in a low voice. ‘You never really said – in your letters.'

‘Honestly, it wasn't too bad. Could have been a lot worse. Provided you didn't try to escape, and I never did, you weren't badly treated.' Rusty's gaze was soft, melting with concern. ‘Look, I don't want you being upset, Jess. I survived – that's what matters.'

‘Yes, you're right, it's all that matters.' She held him tight for a moment, protesting as he tried to pull her to his knee. ‘No, Rusty, I'm too heavy. Look, I'll go back to my own chair.'

‘For God's sake, I'm not as much of an invalid as all that!' he cried. ‘If I can't even have you on my knee, I might as well give up.'

‘No, just think about getting better. Stronger. Maybe we should see our local doctor – see if there's anything he can do.'

‘All it needs is rest and time. Then I'll be as I used to be. All the guys are pretty much in the same boat.'

‘If only you could have let me know how you were, though.' She sat facing him, twisting her hands in her lap. ‘Or just that you were back. I'd no idea what was happening – no way of finding out. I even thought the Russians might have spirited you away.'

‘The Russians?' He gave a rare smile. ‘They weren't around us, though I did hear they hadn't done much to help guys to get out from other camps. We just had to wait till the powers that be decided we could go. Then there was more hanging about and the journey back to the UK. Spending time in the transit camp, where I was ill – getting checked up and demobbed, sent on our way. Even got a gratuity, you know – a present from a grateful government.'

‘Well, they are grateful,' Jess said seriously. She kissed Rusty on the cheek. ‘We all are – God knows we are.'

He was silent, before saying lightly, ‘Don't suppose Marguerite was too pleased about her leaving present. I believe the women got less than the men.'

‘Never!'

‘Knew you'd be annoyed. But how is Marguerite? And Ben? And George and Sally?'

‘I told you about Sally having the baby? She's back at the Princes, working part time. Wee Magnus is so cute – four years old now, her mother takes him. And George is keeping going with his brother-in-law. Seems resigned to it. Often pops in to the circle to see a film.' Jess sighed. ‘I think he still misses us, to be honest.'

‘Poor old George. And Marguerite's back at the cafe?'

‘Yes, and Ben's back in the projection box. Missing you, he says. Keeps complaining about old Ron, but I'm grateful to Ron and the others who came in while you folk were away. They did a good job, they kept us going.'

‘Now you sound like the manager,' Rusty remarked. ‘Which, of course, you are. Strange, that.'

‘What's strange?'

‘Why, that when I come back . . . you'll be my boss.'

‘Does that bother you?' she asked, after a pause.

‘No, of course not. I'm proud of you, Jess.'

Was he? She stood up.

‘Rusty, you look all in. I think you should try to get some sleep.'

‘Shall I help you clear away?'

‘Two soup bowls and a glass?' She laughed. ‘I think I can manage, thanks. No, I'll just see if the geyser's working – you might like a bath.'

‘Oh, God, yes. Most of us back from the camps take baths all the time. To remind us we can.'

Some time later, when Rusty was in their double bed, wearing a pair of ancient pyjamas Jess had found for him, she unpacked his bag and hung up his few clothes. All were new, for he'd had nothing but his old uniform to wear on his journey from the prison camp, and had been kitted out at the transit camp. There were some shirts and underclothes, a sweater and his demob suit, plus a hat she knew he would never wear, and some socks.

‘Pretty good, eh?' he called from the bed. ‘More presents from the government?'

‘Well, at least you've something to wear.'

‘Better not put any weight on, or that suit won't fit.'

‘Never mind the suit, you‘re going to put on weight. Ma said on the phone, she's already thinking out meals for you.'

‘Can't wait.' He laughed, then closed his eyes and lay back against his pillows. ‘Are you coming to bed, Jess?'

‘Just going to put your case away.'

The last time she'd unpacked a bag for Rusty, it had contained a bottle of whisky. There was no whisky now, and no mention of his earlier drinking had passed between them. Please God, there would be no need to speak of it ever again, Jess prayed, along with sending a thank you for Rusty's safe return. Was it a bit of a cheek, sending up prayers of gratitude, when she'd never been to the kirk for years? Never mind, it seemed right. When she was so grateful.

Grateful, and happy. Yet, when she slipped into bed and lay beside Rusty for the first time since that last leave long ago, she was filled again with feelings of unreality. Was he really here, in their bed, as she'd so often imagined him? Or was she still in dreamland, wishing him home, clinging only to hope?

Stretching out her hand, she very gently laid it on his chest, at which he stirred and sighed and she too sighed, for she knew now that this was no dream, he was here, he was with her, in their own bed.

‘Are you all right?' she whispered.

‘Never thought I'd be wearing pyjamas,' he muttered. ‘On my first night home.'

Suddenly he turned and held her for a moment.

‘Jess, I'm sorry. It'll be all right, I promise, but . . . tonight . . . I'm sorry.'